


Medics get sick too!

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Random Short Stories [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Concern, DRIFT IS A GOOD BOI AND GREAT MATE, Fluff, Infertility, M/M, Mechpreg, Mention of oviposition, Oviposition, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, dratchet - Freeform, fear of infertility, i needed something cute in my life, ish, sick, stress puking, this was in the works for two months lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Ratchet is sick but for a different reason than what Drift thought.Slow updates because I'm a lazy snot





	1. Chapter 1

"You're doing it again." Drift whispered gently, not quiet staring at the over-worked medic. The medic in question only lifted a brow, however not quite looking the white mech in the optic. He had work to be done, appointments to have filled, ignore Swerve and his ramblings. After a few moments, Ratchet re-affixed his attention to what he was doing, but his optics were phasing in and out of focus. All he could to to focus was to glare, it was fleeting.

Drift only sat there, only watching Ratchet's movements go from fluid and practiced to sloppy and slow. He said nothing but waited. He had stowed away a few cubes in his subspace unit, just in case for whatever reason – though it likely – for Ratchet and himself. 

Certainly something was wrong with Ratchet, so he noticed. The usual blue optics were dulled to a near grey, anymech could say as much. Drift hasn't seen this look to the medic, ever. It wasn't quite like when Ratchet exerted himself to a breaking point, he'd still have a blue glow, that wasn't there. 

Ratchet knew Drift wouldn't leave until he responded to him, someway. But that same moment he wanted to snap, he found that Drift had two Energon cubes out beside himself. These were sweeter than the generic Energon from the dispensary, he could tell by the slight pink that seemed to swirl throughout the blue substance. 

"Have you fueled? Here." Drift lifted one cube slowly, Ratchet looked at him almost accusingly. He turned his body slowly, the hydraulics in his back and legs hissed. When his frame faced Drift, he grabbed the cube. Drift smiled slightly, invited tapping where he was sitting, hoping that Ratchet would just come and sit next to him. 

Ratchet quirked a brow but took a step forward, and sat on the edge of the berth. The berth did a quiet creak as he allowed his frame to slump down. He wasn't feeling so well, and him not moving and constantly having something else to do made it obvious. He was feeling now the drag that was occurring on his frame. Ratchet, the stubborn mech that he is, refused to acknowledge the symptoms and drank slowly from the cube. 

Drift looked at him critically, he also noticed the symptoms. "You're sick," he said plainly. The medic only looked at him the once TIC and with a hesitant glare. "I'm not sick," his words came out as a growl. Drift looked at with sympathy in those blue optics. "You're right; you're not sick, you're stubborn," he did a half nervous chuckle. The white mecha was now risking his hide.

Ratchet scoffed, however, when he tried to speak, there was a tightness to his intakes. It was unmistakable. The CMO glared down at the cube in his hold, only taking a sip when he felt his intakes release again. Drift was worried for him, the stubborn glitch. 

Ratchet hadn't taken any time off from being in the medbay. All his energy and effort was driven to putting everyone back together after a fight at Swerve's broke out. He nor Drift were there and no one was willing to say why (or how) Rodimus lost his spoilers or why even Ultra Magnus was missing - MISSING - three digits! Maybe everyone was nervous, this was Ratchet. He does give the vibe of 'if you were dumb enough to do it, I'm not gonna want to fix you.'

In reality though, this is not the case. Ratchet cares too much. He always had. It's why Drift is still alive. 

After Drift had the Syk pumped out of his systems, he tried to even do better by others. A 'con turned 'bot in the later part of the war. 

Drift shook the thoughts from his head. Ratchet had reassured his gaze on the cube and its contents, only now did he go to remove it. He wasn't willing to admit defeat yet but his systematic pings to his hud made him move closer to resignation. "Stubborn or not, I've still got work to do. Not to mention, replace Magnus' hand." Drift wasn't surprised by his response. Work, work, work. "Well, breaks are permitted, yes?" Drift asked with a quiet stroke to Ratchet's back, nothing too much, like quiet reassurance. 

Ratchet was just so close to just say to hell with Magnus' hand and head off to his berth. Well... Aid was on board, so it wouldn't be too much to ask that he take care of it. He heaved he chest with air, it nearly painful to his sensors inside his intakes. "I'll tell you what, when Aid gets in here, I'll go to my berth." 

Drift raised an optic ridge, "Where is he?" Ratchet shrugged, taking another sip. "Said something about an 'important' meeting with Rodimus and Megatron. If you ask me-" he couldn't breathe, too busy coughing. Drift wasn't sure what to do, the first thing he did was flinch at the outburst. After a moment, Ratchet caught his breath, admitting defeat with a low, groaned sigh. "Maybe you're right." It was hard for the old medic to admit defeat, to anyone, now he was forcing himself to accept the fact that he's ill.

Drift slid closer to the medic, "I can take you to your quarters, and let Rodimus know what's up." Drift tried to make it sound as appealing as possible, but Ratchet's optics were already dimming. He had started to lean on Drift subconsciously, and his systems were catching up with him. "Ratchet?" He groaned. "Stay still, you make a good pillow."

He grabbed Ratchet's cube out of his weak hold and plopped it down, slipping his arm around Ratchet's torso. His chassis was very hot, much hotter than what was healthy. "You're going to berth." Ratchet groaned again as Drift lifted him up. He walked smoothly to not jostle the ill medic.

Once he came to Ratchet's quarters, he literally nosed the code into the door, unfortunately Ratchet's peds scraped the floor, waking the mech. "The hell?" Slipped from his vocalizer as the door opened. The two made it in, then it closed with a creak. Drift walked carefully over to Ratchet's berth. "Your frame is so hot," Drift whispered with worry in his voice. 

"You're a medic, I would've thought that you'd take better care," Drift gently scolded. Ratchet groaned as his steaming frame landed on the cold berth. It felt good but for only a moment. He was more awake now. "Don't chastise me. System bias affects a lot of medics," was his simple answer. Drift was not convinced. "But you're not just any medic; you're the CMO. Best of the best," he whispered as he went and grabbed another cube, this one chilled, for Ratchet.

"System bias occurs over a long time if the party ignores problems, small or not," Ratchet added, slowly going to sit up against the wall. It too was cold on his aching struts. "I certainly did not become CMO overnight, Drift." He nodded, returning to the berth with a chilled cube. It was one of the easier ways to cool a mech's systems down - from the inside. "I've had a lot of time to ignore my menial problems. I-" he coughed. "I didn't have any choice," he said with finality. 

Drift looked at him with sad optics, "You've got a choice now. Plus, you're not the only medic we've got here." He put the cube in Ratchet's hand, it shook a little. He grumbled a thank you and sipped at it. "But I-"

"Shush. Drink."

Not much quieted an argument with Ratchet, even though that wasn't much of one, his fame's heat was getting to him. It was uncomfortable and it felt like his intakes were seizing up each time he tried to speak. 

Drift sat beside him, running his digits over his shoulder and back. The heat came off on his hands. And Ratchet was shaking, this wasn't good. He tried to stroke reassuringly, maybe Ratchet would fall asleep again on Drift. He'd get some rest, no matter what. 

And Drift's plan worked, Ratchet had drank most of the liquid, his frame leaning on the white mech's frame. Drift was proud of himself for getting Ratchet to go back into recharge, though light, recharge it was. He just continued to rub his back and shoulders before slowly lowering him down to berth and into his pillow.

He looked so cute! But one sad thing, he's sick and Drift needs to get First Aid to check him out. Because Drift isn't any medic by any stretch and it would settle his mind if he knew Ratchet was going to be okay. Ratchet stirred but did not wake, good thing for Drift. He slid off the berth, it creaked only a little and he froze. Optics looking back at Ratchet and found that he hadn't even moved.

He sighed in relief and got back to moving, his peds landing with quiet tinks with each step until he reached the door. It creaked as it opened, it echoed in the room and Drift froze, tentatively looking back. Ratchet hadn't even budged. With that he walked out quickly, if he ran Magnus would gripe at him for it. 

Down one corridor and down the next, he came upon Rodimus' quarters. Rapping on the door, it slid open with a click. 

"Drift! Bud! Whatcha need?" Rodimus had his hands on his desk. "Please tell me the ship's being invaded," optics pleasingly glinted. Drift shook his head, laughing slightly, eyeing the room for First Aid. "No. No. I have to disappoint," he spoke as his posture went from relaxed to straight. He caught sight of First Aid next to Megatron. 

"I need to borrow Aid."

"What's the matter?" Megatron, sounded genuinely concerned, stepped forward. "Did Ratchet ask for me to be in medibay?" Aid asked, stepping closer to the desk. 

"I need you to check Ratchet actually," his voice cracked a little, catching the attention of the Co-captain. "What is the matter with him?"

"I think he's sick."

"Show me," First Aid said as he practically pulled the white mech from the room. "I'm sure we can continue this later," he said lastly to Rodimus who said looked mildly confused but nodded curtly. The door slid closed with click of the locking mechanisms. "Where is he?" Aid asked quickly, staring directly into Drift's optics. "In his unit."

First Aid turned on his peds, walking briskly, a faster pace than Drift thought possible for the shorter mecha. Before long they were both at Ratchet's HAB unit, Drift opening the locking mechanism. What the pair didn't expect was for Ratchet to be awake... and hunched over a waste bin beside the berth. A wretched odor seemed to have wafted in to Drift's nasal cavity, causing him to draw his optics tightly. Ratchet hadn't even notice the door open or the two enter.

He retched again, his entire frame shaking. First Aid, without any hesitation grabbed Drift and told him to grab a cold cloth, something cool him down. Drift did as he was asked and dashed off to the kitchen area of Ratchet's unit. When he came back, Aid was sitting close to Ratchet. He was sitting up with the bin in his lap. They were talking quietly so Drift couldn't make anything out, but he continued with the cold cloth, draping it across Ratchet's neck. 

Ratchet glanced up and weakly smiled, his venting deep though when he exvented it all came out as wheezes. Drift eyed Ratchet, seeing the tired features made him worry but he knew he couldn't control him. Ratchet was like a flame that Drift could only marvel at but would never attempt to end it. Ratchet was... pure in Drift's optics.

First Aid got up, silently directing Drift to take his place on the berth. He hadn't even noticed that had started walking over to sit. Aid now looked at Drift and back to Ratchet. He nodded to Aid, Drift noted, and Aid opened his mouth. "Congratulations on becoming bonded." Drift's mouth hung open slightly. Aid added softly "Go on Ratch."

Drift's expression was puzzled at best as he turned to see Ratchet's, it looked excited yet conflicted. He gently exvented, wheezed, and turned his body towards Drift. 

"Drift," his usually loud voice whispered. "I'm carrying." He froze. Ratchet. Carrying. He's carrying. "Really?" Was the strongest reply he could give, he wasn't quite sure he could believe it! Ratchet looked really pleased with himself, nodding, the weak smile from before was replaced by a stronger one. Drift reached for Ratchet's hands, he met him halfway. 

"Ratchet asked me to stay quiet about it," Aid added with a smile. Ratchet didn't look annoyed however his voice betrayed it when he said "You're not doing very good at being quiet." Drift didn't look at First Aid, he didn't even care that he was in the room. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against his medic, he ultimately got a taste of regurgitated fuel. Hell if that mattered! 

Ratchet must have the same opinion on the matter, not really holding back in front of his student. 

"Uh guys," Aid's usual happy voice had a worried tone to it. Before Ratchet or Drift could ask, the former Warlord and now Co-Captain looked from where he stood in the doorway. "May I come in?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "You're already halfway in. What's the point in asking?" His snark reply made Drift almost laugh, though this was still Megatron. Megatron ignored Ratchet's remark. The door closed behind the silver figure. Drift wasn’t so sure why he had come in the room at all. 

“So you’re carrying,” it didn’t sound like it was out of distaste, however it still sounded very bland, like he didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Ratchet quirked a brow, though he never made any motion to do anything towards Megatron. “Congratulations. I wouldn’t have thought you’d bond.” 

“You know you made it hard.”

“I’m not disputing that,” he said tartly. “Now Drift, take care of him." He raised his finials in pride. Red optics pointed towards the medic in a soft gleam. "I want you to stay out of medbay," a smirk in his voice and field showed though. Ratchet coughed a laugh. 

"I planned on it." Megatron nodded. "Rodimus asked me to check on you, since you required First Aid's attention. With this revelation, it may need to become public knowledge." Drift lifted a brow. "For safety reasons, of course. This ship does _manage_ to find trouble." No one disputed that fact. It was dangerous out away from Cybertron and on the Lost Light. 

"If so, tell 'em." Ratchet shrugged, sliding closer to Drift, the bucket still resting on his lap. Drift met him halfway, putting an arm around his torso. Drift didn't notice that Megatron said anything after that, or that he started to leave, leaving Aid with the pair. 

Ratchet laughed, Drift had started drawing little designs over his torso. It tickled. His thoughts jovial, then he thought back to earlier and system bias stuff that Ratchet talked about. 

"Why didn't you say you were sparked earlier?" Softly.

"Because I just gave him the results, he didn't know to say." First Aid crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one side. Ratchet leaned into Drift, head resting on his shoulder. "And I wanted to be sure. I didn't want to get your hopes up for nothing," voice soft, much more than the usual gruff tone he carried. Drift could understand just as much, wanting to be sure.

The white swordsmech puffed out condensed air from his nose, Ratchet felt it land in his shoulder. His frame's heat started to rise again. 

"How far along are you?" Drift hummed. First Aid had come and taken the now warm and damp towel back to the kitchen to cool it again. "5 deca-cycles," he stated quietly. "15 more to go," Ratchet added with a soft smile, tiredly resting his head on Drift. He couldn't help the urge to smile along with Ratchet, after all, he was going to be a sire! Right?

"You're so silly..." Ratchet trailed off. "Drift, I haven't interfaced with anyone else, you know." Drift gave a strange, quizzical gleam towards Ratchet, to which he only laughed. "You always say what's on your mind; especially if you're concentrating." He then coughed, sounding like he may start purging again. 

First Aid had returned from the kitchen with the now cold towel and a cube. It has a slightly different color than the usual. He came from behind and draped it over Ratchet's neck, shuddering at the sudden cold. Aid walked around towards the front of them, dragging a chair over and sat in it with it's back towards the two. 

"Do you want to know how many you're having?" He said as he crossed his arms over the top of the chair. Drift hadn't even thought to ask how many they were having! Oh my... "They're eggs, right? I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard to tell," Drift whispered, exchanging glances from Ratchet and First Aid. Aid's visor looked blank, like in deep thought. "Well, yes and no. Yes, it's easy for a professional, not so much for someone who hasn't had any medical training."

Drift only sat there, vaguely imagining Ratchet with a belly bulgingly full with eggs. How round he'd become. How soft he'd be. But best of all, they'd be creators!

"Well, tell us," Ratchet spoke, to wit brought Drift back from his daydream. First Aid, even with his mask and visor on, looked ecstatic. "Eight." So simple but with the quickest implications. Even Ratchet gasped, Drift did the same. "Are you sure? Serious?" 

"Completely. Oh!"—digging through subspace—"Here's the scan." He handed the holoscanner to Drift, who then handed it off again to Ratchet, who then actually looked at it. Drift didn't know what to look for. After what felt like forever he lifted his head and nudged Drift. “Look at them. They’re all healthy, little sparks,” breathless.

Drift did look, eyeing the scan of his Conjunxes spark chamber, counting all nine sparks. Wait, what? “I’m counting nine.”

“That one’s mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S3X RITE HERE
> 
> btw I'm not too well practiced when it comes to interfacing.  
> That's the warning here.

It didn't take long for the entire ship to find out about Ratchet and Drift, many had assumed it. But none thought that the pair would be the first aboard to spark. Most thought Chromedome and Rewind would be the first, Hell! More thought that Cyclonus and Tailgate would already have a set or few by now. Everyone was wrong. 

Their announcement was not a formal one, unfortunately for Magnus' sake. Though the big lug was a stiff, not even he could deny he was happy for the pair, even if saying it aloud was difficult for him. It was Swerve who – with his loose tongue – made sure everyone knew the news. Even Whirl, what the ship may call a lunatic, was glad for the pair. He even threw out some names, most were completely idiotic and some downright wrong: Thrust, Tailpipe, Doom, and worst of all: Overload. There was already one poor fool with that name, the universe did not need another.

It was decided—not like it was really a question—only Ratchet and Drift would be the ones to name the little bits. For once, no one argued with either. 

Even with 10 more deca-cycles to go, there was now a noticeable curve to his tummy. The eggs were growing well, and their little sparks were strong; Drift was still awestruck about the news himself, though it was starting to settle. He often found himself hanging back with his mate, forgetting about meetings and the like.

Megatron, though a bit rough around the edges, forgave it, although begrudgingly. Rodimus made him and to say that is not too far from believable for anyone, but this was still Megatron. 

Ratchet right now had to stay away from medibay. Orders. Captain's and himself, not to mention First Aid and Ambulon, they too wanted him out, for safety reasons of course. Too much external heat or even fumes from certain things – even fuels – could work adversely against the carrier and the eggs. Drift had tried to make sure everything was okay and safe for Ratchet in their now shared HAB unit. All the while Ratchet would reassure Drift that he was fine. That everything was fine.

Even now, Drift was doting. "Can I get you anything, Love?" Ratchet jokingly rolled his optics, removing them from medical reports. (Even if he wasn't supposed to be in medibay, does not mean he isn't going to at least know who did what for a dumb reason. He wanted to be in the know.) His optics didn't leave the datapad at first until he quickly finished the last few glyphs on the bottom of the current page.

"You could relax. You'll hurt yourself, hell, you may wear a hole through the floor!" He said jokingly, flopping the pad down onto the side table. He pushed up himself with a little effort, smoothly making his way towards Drift who was at the moment facing the door. Perhaps he didn't hear him?

As he reached for the white frame, Drift turned on his heels and faced him. His hands grabbing Ratchet's, rubbing circles over blue knuckles. "Is that what you'd prefer?"

"You to relax, yes. You're going crazy," he laughed, leaning into white lips. Drift didn't hold back his smile, smiling gently into the kiss. It was short and sweet, but good. "You know," Drift whispered, their lips still lingering against each other. His hands came around to trail around the white and orange waist. Ratchet didn't miss a beat when Drift's hand softly came to rest on his bulge. "You're very hot," his tone was low, however not out of mischievousness but rather an adoring murmur. They pulled away from the kiss. Ratchet moved closer, pressing himself against the white mech with his hand sandwiched between the two. And like Drift would edge away! - he was perfectly content with having his hand there. It made all the much easier to wedge his finger under his Conjunxes windshield.

"That tickles. Weirdo," Ratchet giggled. It was a new sound for him and one that Drift enjoyed making come out of him. He was an odd one, but neither cared. Drift's field gently poked Ratchet's, his own protocols provoking him. "May I see?" He asked, using his other hand to play with the glass, drawing sporadic patterns. Ratchet knew what he meant and obliged. His chassis split apart, carefully, revealing a yellow spark with smaller ones being held by golden tendrils. 

"Absolutely beautiful," the white mech whispered. Only then did he pull his hand out from between them, going to hold the chamber, feeling heat emanate from all the sparks. His gentle touch made Ratchet shudder. It was nice, comforting, though it was not like needed the comfort; he was perfectly calm at the moment. Ratchet's hands held Drift's waist, relishing in the sweetness of the touches. Their fields gently meshing with each other.

"What's it feel like?" He asked between looking at Ratchet and all of the balls of energy. Ratchet quirked a brow, thumbing over a sensitive node cluster on Drift's chassis. "Do you want the medic standpoint or a first-time carriers standpoint?"

"You know I'm a slut for science."  
"The true sluts for science are Brainstorm and Perceptor."

"Well," Drift prompted, looking into already tired optics. Ratchet didn't stop himself from laughing with a quirked brow; Drift was weird but sweet. A sweet weirdo. "Ah, well, I'm in the beginning stages still." Drift did not look away, starting to play with sensitive wiring under Ratchet's spark casing, eliciting an uncharacteristic squeak. "A-and that means that their protoform is being made within their eggs. Only a basic frame," he caught himself stutter. It wasn't his fault his conjunx was touching all the right spots. 

He tried to continue, "they should have only a basic shape, two legs, arms." He gasped as Drift plucked a little too rough on an extremely sensitive nerve cluster of coiled wires. "Hey! If you're going to distract me-" there was too much lip attached to his to continue his scolding tone. Drift tried to play with Ratchet's mouth but whimpered when he got his own lip bit by his Conjunx. "Don't tease me," he warned between breaths. "It's a dangerous thing to do."

"But you make danger fun." Drift played a dangerous game, but he knew that when they bonded and would do it all again. And he did, sliding his hands from the bottom of one to the top, painfully slow. Ratchet already thought he could see stars when Drift caught the temperature modulator, purposefully tickling it, eliciting a low, near feral growl from the medic. “Don’t tease me,” he repeated with the addition of static. The white swordsmech leaned back so he may see his mate’s blue optics that looked… ready to pounce. 

The orange carrier, hands on Drift’s hips, gripping his kibble, playful dragged him back against him. What really caught Drift’s attention was that Ratchet’s heat certainly had begun to rise, since he could already feel condensation form on his frame. Ratchet started to ground against a black thigh. 

“You’re so sensitive.” He meant what he said as just a plain statement, perhaps a complement. His own leg pushed between white thighs, a quiet keen on Ratchet’s tongue. “You see why I like to tease?” He continued to slide back and forth, watching pleasantly as his Conjunxes optics closed, letting his head fall back. Drift dragged his leg up, having his knee scrape at a heating panel, causing another keen go into his shoulder when Ratchet head came forward, all in a fleeting attempt to muffle it.

“You made me sensitive,” voice still muffled, chest plates going back with a _snikt_. “By doing exactly what we’re doing now.” Drift didn’t bother holding in his chuckle. He slid his hands over Ratchet’s arms, one going on a different adventure, going about to mess with very responsive T-seams. Ratchet nipped at his shoulder. “What, do you not like me doing this to you?” he asked with an obvious smirk, one that Ratchet could hear in his tone. He went to respond but Drift purposefully lifted the medic with his leg wedged between two white thighs. Drift had already begun to notice the addition of the weight of the eggs. For anyone else, no one would know, but Drift likes to carrying his Conjunx - much to his disagreement - and would be the only other mech to know. But he wouldn’t dare say something now, that may very well land him in the brig or worse, be booted from their quarters, and he really didn’t want to have to bunk with Swerve.

“Now you’re just being awful.” Ratchet resigned himself to being carried, wrapping his arms around black cables. Drift moved his hands to a white aft; Ratchet reacting in a split second, wrapping his legs around his mate’s slender white and red waist. “You say that but,” he whispered into an audial, walking over to their berth. “You’re all sorts of hot.” That made him laugh, even after Drift plopped him down. He got down and straddled warm thighs, leaning over, gently pressing his chassis to Ratchet’s windshield, hands on either side of his chassis, Drift ‘blepped’ his nasal ridge. 

Ratchet did not bother to hold back a snort. “You’re so weird,” he purred, his engines lulling over. The medic reached between black thighs and gently played his own game of tease with (as he knew very well) extremely sensitive modesty plating, barely scraping his fingers across the bottom. It was Drift’s turn to bite at Ratchet’s shoulder, making him loose a deep, guttural sound as paint was practically dragged off by his sharp teeth. He would’ve admonished the white mech but he was starting to listen to his engines rev, razzly pressing a little harder. Drift made a whiny noise as red hands stroked up, ever so softly, making Drift’s fans click higher. “And you’re a tease.”

“See how it feels?” He rose to look him in the optic, once white finials were decorated with a light blush, looking on with mock hurt. “Don’t look at me like that.” Drift pursed his lips, innocently widening his optics. “No,” Ratchet chuckled. “If these bits give that look, we are so slagged.” Drift guffawed, moving a hand down a white chassis, coming to rest at his hip. “Slagged or not,” he whispered with a hint of mischievousness causing Ratchet to become skeptical, until a white hand took his own from between Drift’s thighs to on his own modesty plating, immediately reminded of the heat that was practically dripping out of him. Ratchet purred, allowing his the cover to slide back with a soft click. The cool air hitting his bare array made it squirt, making it trickle warmly between his thighs.

“May I?” Drift inquired with longing in his voice, his optics begging Ratchet. He couldn’t help but roll his optics, plunging his own hand into himself, eliciting a small groan. He did not verbally say yes, but his field certainly said yes. Not to mention the smell that was wafting up from the orange biolit valve, absolutely intoxicating! He slid his own hand alongside Ratchet’s, two digits slid in nicely. The medic let Drift have his valve, taking both hands and pulling him down again for a searing kiss, chassis' clanking together. 

It wasn’t a clean kiss, but what kiss was. It was open and full of passion, neither in really the dominant position, not taking all just sharing equally. They softly embraced until Drift ticked an orange outer node particularly hard, rocking Ratchet into a rough climax on his hand, a mess between them and on the berth. 

Almost regretfully they broke away, leaving them gasping. His field tingled with afterglow. Drift watched the bissed look color white and orange features. He could look at him all day, all night, anytime, for any reason, which isn’t too far from normal. He stroked the chevron with his lips. 

Slowly Ratchet came back from his glow, but now he was getting hot again. He grabbed again at Drift’s closed array, a quiet demand for him to just open up. He did. “In the mood for this I see.” Drift quirked a stupid grin, making Ratchet roll his optics and grab the red and black erect spike. He forcefully squeezed it and sniggered when his mate moaned. “Yes, now if you would,” he whispered, now also reaching for a white finial. “Drive that thing into me.”

“Of course.” There wasn’t another exchange, only Drift slowly - again teasingly - through the slick rubber lining, being painstakingly careful to not just mash in. Though as it would seem Ratchet was in the mood for rough. He wrapped his legs around the white and red waist, pulling Drift and his shaft almost hilt deep in a solid motion. “Don't tease me,” he growled with husky undertones, sending shivers down Drift's spine. “That slow slag isn't gonna fly.”

Drift, despite being held by his mate's legs, drew back and plunged back in, relishing in the heat and the constricting force drawing him in deeper. He didn't respond and kept moving, enjoying growling keens of his name on the carriers lips, feeling his charge build with each thrust, gradually getting deeper. 

Ratchet knew he was getting close again, thankfully Drift wasn't wasting his time either. Striking at his innermost node, he came with a static laced cry. The heat and charge bolted across his array and stabbed Drift into his own. Searing hot transfluid pulsed into his valve that was guzzled up and into an accepting chamber. That did not slow the motion of Drift’s hips, through his own haze he still moved, now much faster. This made Ratchet whimper as Drift continued to punch each cluster of nodes, his hands on white hips. Drift came down to lick at revealed neck cabling, making Ratchet arch his back further. 

“You’ve -- oh yes! Right _fragging_ there!” Ratchet yelled as his ceiling nodes were getting there taste of pleasure. He pulled his legs back in pace with Drift, in hopes he spills again, just the thought sent him tumbling over again with a yelp and making him see stars. His valve pulsed strongly against the shaft, throwing him off the hill known as overload with a pleasured grunt, dropping a smaller load than before into that greedy valve. Heat and condensation resting on their frames, leaving them both panting. Ratchet whimpered at the loss of Drift’s spike as cool air tickled his array. 

Ratchet let his legs fall down, shaking slightly. He leaned up and only to catch white finial carefully with his lips, drowning in a pleasant haze. “You -- you’re so good to me.” His optics closed slowly, drowsily stroking Drift’s cheek. He slowly blinked, leaning into the welcoming touch. “There isn’t any other way I’d have it,” he whispered, resting his own hand on the red one, longing in his optics. “I love you too much to have it otherwise.” Ratchet snorted a spent laugh. Drift slid beside the warm body, gently resting a servo on the curve, thumbing it softly. The old medic smiled, intertwining their digits. “I love you so much.” 

Over his long life, he never dared say something like that. Each time he’d gotten close enough to someone to say that, he lost them. But his spark knew that he wouldn’t lose Drift; they were content with each other. Doomed to live happily with each other, and soon with eight little bits running under foot. Hopefully eight, he found himself thinking grimmly. 

He suddenly shivered at the slightest touch to his valve, craning his head to see what it was: it certainly wasn’t one of Drift’s digits! “I wasn’t going to leave all dirty,” he muttered, deliberately flicking the outer node. Ratchet could feel himself clench on the nothing that was in there, aching empty. “If you keep doing that I won’t be able to last.” It was a soft admonishment but that did not stop Drift from snickering. “Oh it’s so fun though, making you overload.”

“And you see where overloading has taken us.” His engines whirled, teasingly vibrating his mate. Drift looked at him, optics slightly wide. His field pulsed softly against Ratchet, a silent question. Ratchet lifted a brow, opening his optics (when hah he closed them?), and saw a worried look in those beautiful blues. “Drift,” he said, reaching for his partners servo. “If I didn’t want them, I wouldn’t have said anything. But I care about you and I care about them and I want them.” He squeezed the white servo in reassurance. A small relieved smile came back onto the swordsmech’s face. 

“I would hate to burden you with something that you wouldn’t want.” Ever polite, as always with Drift, his spark settled in its casing. Ratchet let his body further relax into the berth, eyeing Drift with a single optics. “Believe me”—yawn—”I’ve wanted this for a long time.” His systems were forcing him into recharge. Drift was glad that at least he was getting some rest. It still was settling in him that they’d be creators -- that he’d be a sire. He needed to be the best.


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet looked down passed his windshield down to his abdomen. Part of him was still surprised that he and Drift had even managed to create a clutch. He was glad for it, glad that there wasn't exactly a war to deal with and rationing and other things to worry over. As far as carrying cycles are concerned, his was going smoothly.

He sat up slowly to allow his equilibrium to stabilize. He swore that he could feel them move, solidifying the fact that yes, they most certainly did create a clutch. Ratchet just hoped that they were not duds, but one thing's for certain, those eggs were certainly much bigger now. Maybe a little less than fist size, which added to his slow movement.

That and Drift wasn't there. He didn't really have a reason to get up besides for fuel which, did leave him a little bored. Even the reports from the infirmary had slowed, meaning one of two things: mechs were not being stupid and hurting themselves, or; they were being swamped and hadn't gotten the reports done. And frankly, he would hope that it wasn't the latter.

Once he was adjusted, he swung his legs over the side of their berth. The cool floor was welcoming but he didn't move from there, just thinking now. It was all rather trivial, certainly nothing that really needed to be thought about now. That kind of stuff would have to come later. He was sure of it.

He pushed himself up and off, and walked with sway over to the dispenser. Next to it on the counter were extra supplements. They didn't really have a taste to them but oddly smelt of old oil, that's what made it really repulsive to others. Many assumed that it tasted like it smelt which is not always the case. It was in a little bottle with a dropper. Ratchet just ignored putting it into his Energon and usually settles for straight down the back of his throat, just like today. There wasn't a point to put it in his fuel if it didn't have a taste.

It was all just a flick of the wrist, he squeezed the magenta colored supplements down his intake. Although the smell was lacking and the taste minimal, that did not always mean that it settled well in his tank. So Ratchet had found himself in a pattern: take the supplements first and allow it time to settle, give or take a couple klicks. Without any nausea chasing after him, he would grab the cube and take it in half a gulp. It’s gotten tedious but it should be worth it in the end… he hoped. Then he slammed half the cube without hesitation. 

He wasn’t exactly young anymore. And the fear of infertility in the eggs was still terrifying to him. Even though he is the Chief Medic he can’t test himself for fertility, not now. The test is quite invasive and involves scraping a sample off the inside of the gestation chamber, completely emptying the transfluid tank, and recording the pulse of the hosts spark. Faster pulses are better - stronger for growing sparks. He couldn’t check any of that…

That and he hadn’t even told Drift. He knew he should have told him from the start but it just settled so heavy in his tanks when he even thought about it. Ratchet was terrified of making Drift upset at him… again. He’s already done that many times before they became Conjunx Endura and yes, Drift needed to hear some of it. But some of the things that came out of Ratchet’s mouth when angry have always tended to be too harsh. He wasn’t proud of everything he said, certainly. He didn’t want to lie to his mate, and by not telling Drift that there was a chance that these eggs were duds, he was.

All this was pressing down on him. It was making his head spin. Ratchet had waited this long to say absolutely nothing on the possibility. It was just wrong. His entire frame began to overheat, much like it did in the early Deca-cycles of this carry. Even the fuel in his tank started to turn.

He had to lower himself down, using the counter as support. The wave of nausea flared through his systems and field. On the ground, his venting was shaky. He rubbed at his head and belly to try and calm both, but to little avail. _What am I going to tell him?_ He wheezed. He would have to tell Drift the truth. He felt the nausea rise up along with the little bit of fuel he had to the back of his throat. It was burning. Optic fluid threatened to spill. The gag that erupted didn’t hold back what came. The Energon had changed to a faded blue, near grey, on the floor and his hand—now stained—that tried to catch himself. It hadn't helped, if anything, it made it all splatter farther. 

He panted, vents blasting harshly with a little creak from his fans. He could not hide any of this. No, it was staring him in the face even with the slightest glance down. Ratchet’s spark smacked painfully against the casing. There was nothing that he could do than hope that Drift wouldn’t want to sever their bond. It was still so new and Ratchet was petrified at the thought of losing him… again. Fluid fell in streaks down his face.

He’d already lost some of his oldest friends that he had been close enough to have considered bonding with, they were gone. He didn’t want to go through that again. There was already the fear of being infertile, and now the mounting terror that filled him with the thought that he’d be alone too. It was beginning to get too much for the old medic. 

Ratchet laid his messy hand down on his belly, trying feebly to calm himself. He was used to being in better control of his emotions. Never had he ever been driven to such a state by one thought. He was never one to lose himself to worry, but now was different. Ratchet didn’t want to think, not about the eggs, not about infertility, not about what could happen when he tries to tell Drift… He shook his head, leaning back against the counter, his systems sighed with the heat. 

It couldn’t be all that bad. Drift was a good mech, calm, something that Ratchet wasn’t always. They balanced each other out, it was comfortable. They could sit in their silence and would always be comfortable just having their fields flick against each other, their sparks beating in rhythm. _It’s going to be okay…_

Condensed air puffed from his vents. He just let that little string of words float in his head. It helped settle his mind, and with that his tanks. Thankfully. He wheezed, his clean hand reached behind him to pull him up slowly. His arm wasn’t quite used to pulling up the extra weight from the eight eggs. 

His hip popped uncomfortably as he rested most of his upper body weight on the counter top. His body had started to make weirder noises since the entire carry started. Or he was just getting older. No! Not going to go through that train of thought again. Ratchet didn’t want that train derailing at station. So best thing is to absolutely avoid the whole thought until necessary. 

Ratchet sighed and reached into a drawer for a wipe for the almost white sludge that had dried on his hand, chassis, and floor. The sticky grime was wiped away from his hand. His chassis came clean just the same, the floor however, would be a bit more difficult. Again he went down, but now he was on his knees with his hand supporting himself. The gravity on the ship pulled his belly down to the cold floor. It made him shudder a little as he scrubbed at the bits that were sort of dried and now very sticky.

Then the sound of the HAB opening with a _vinckt_. Ratchet didn’t quite hear it, he assumed it was the ventilation systems in the HAB powering on. “Ratchet?” Drift spoke a little louder outside the room, making Ratchet look over his shoulder to the opening. Drift strode into the kitchen and came to a complete halt. “Ratchet, what are you doing on the floor?” Drift sounded somewhere between concerned and confused. 

Ratchet cringed a little. “I… was cleaning up,” he feebly explained, wiping at the rest of his purged grim. Drift’s field was now flaring with concern as he came over his mate’s side, putting a hand on a white shoulder. “You could’ve just left it for me, so you wouldn’t have to.” Ratchet stopped and collected the mess of the cloth into his hand. 

“I’m not going to do that. You know that,” he grumbled, resting on his ankles (which was not the most comfortable position at the moment…). Drift knelt down and looked directly at Ratchet, marveling, and realizing one thing. “Why were you crying?” Concern obvious, Drift thumbed over the smooth features, ultimately holding the medic’s cheek. Ratchet cringed again, he balled up his fist and wiped what was close to falling. He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to not have to think about it all, but fate would have it this way.

He opened his mouth to speak but Drift just pulled him into a loving embrace. Cool hands wrapped protectively around the white and orange frame. Ratchet, though at first hesitant, relaxed into the touch. “You can tell me later,” the swordsmech added softly against an adial. “Come on.” Drift pulled away only enough to hold Ratchet’s hands. “I’ll get the rest, okay?” Ratchet sighed and allowed himself to be lifted to his pedes. He unintentionally stumbled into Drift, and the white mech held steady, leading him over to the closest seat in the kitchen. 

It was the soft smile that Drift casted toward him was equal parts relaxing and a pinging reminder of what Ratchet has to tell him. He steadied his venting before he would have a revisit of what occurred only moments prior. He knew that he had to tell Drift the truth, he deserved to know, Ratchet believed. Drift weaved his hand around a widden hip, protective, unfortunately it added fuel to an already horrifying fire. 

Once he was at the seat, Drift pulled it out from under the table’s edge, also holding Ratchet’s hand as he lowered himself down with a huff. The rumble in Ratchet’s tank was not dismissable to Drift, who dashed off to retrieve a full cube and returned just as quickly. Ratchet, though apprehensive, was grateful to not have to get up again. With a grunted thank you, he took a generous sip, systems humming their own appreciation. 

Drift ventured off to the scene of the crime while Ratchet continued to sip his Energon. Ratchet kept his optics down, away from what he had caused. _I didn’t mean to,_ he thought bitterly. 

Drift on the other hand only quickly and thoroughly cleared up the partially digested fuel. His field, as he went, kept flickering against Ratchet’s, calm and warm, soothing. It should have helped his but it only left Ratchet feeling even more frazzled about how to go about the topic that has been haunting his mind. 

The mess cleaned, Drift threw away the tarnished towels and came over to the table. He dragged a chair from around the opposite side of the table to the left of Ratchet, leaving Drift’s arm to rest on the right. There in the moment, Ratchet knew it was time to confess. Placing down the cube and affixing his gaze on his belly (since his pedes could not be seen). The uncomfortable air that wafted from his frame was unbearable. Drift knew that something was bothering his mate and wanted to do what he could to help, after all, what were mates for besides support?

He didn’t push, did not prod, only waited for Ratchet to get his bearing on what he wanted to say. Drift hardly could think of a time where or when Ratchet was rendered catatonic, unfortunately. There was a ghosting thought that he had something to do with Ratchet’s shift in aura. What could he have done? Drift had tried to be the best that he could be for his mate. Had he made a mistake without taking notice?

“Drift,” after a shaky start, Ratchet began. Drift sat on point, finials burning with anxiety and anticipation. “Yes dearest?” From there, another moment, Ratchet was paralyzed. He was not sure whether he could bring himself to tell Drift what ailed his mind and spark. 

With the pride he still held, he carried on. “We need to talk.” Drift looked between confused and fearful. “About the eggs,” he clarified. Drift relaxed slightly but his optics were still large. “Is there something the matter?”

He took in a shaky breath. Ratchet held his belly, the eggs, like it the last line of defense. In some cases, it was really was. “You know you bonded with an older mech. I’m no longer youthful,” he whispered. Ratchet continued, “And with age does come a certain… comes with,” he could not bring himself to say the word. Drift, it did not take much for him to put two and two together. 

“I can’t check if I am or not. Not now. It’s too late.” Coolant formed under darkened optics. “It’s too late.” The fluid could not be held back, must to his dismay when he forcefully wiped the streaks away. 

“What happens, we will go about together.” Ratchet’s ventilations were caught in his throat. It was getting to be too much again. The recent past reeling its ugly head proudly. “I wouldn't leave you.” 

Ratchet looked up and saw the most sincere smile since the orn that they bonded, true to a fault. His venting quickened, field flaring with relief that was overshadowed by disbelief. He knew he should be able to trust Drift with everything, even now. Ratchet hated that he allowed his mind to drag him somewhere and play a tale that would never happen. There was nothing to fear. Drift was his and all that would be, would be theirs together. 

“Is that what you are worried about?” Drift scooted closer, extending his field with love and comfort. He would have never thought that Ratchet would feel like _he_ , Drift thought it would be the otherway around if the situation ever occurred. Did he say something to make cause for those feelings? That is a question that he may not be able to answer.

Ratchet nodded, looking away again. “Why?” The simplest of questions and yet one for the more painful to answer. Ratchet wavered, rubbing unconsciously at his swollen belly, all but another reminder of what he feared. “Because if these are duds then this would have been for nothing. And you’d have nothing but an infertile mate, only capable of disappointment,” he whimpered. 

Drift’s smile fell. He slid to his knees and kneed his way right in front of Ratchet, who turned farther away from him. “Ratchet.” The carrier did not look at him, only feeling his pride be shattered to be replaced by shame. “Look at me.” Slowly he did, field flaring uncontrollably volatile energy. Drift took hold of his hands, stroking tight knuckles. “You are not a disappointment on any account. You’ve saved countless lives. You’ve given other mecha purpose. You’ve given me purpose, and I hope that you trust me when I say this, there’s nothing that would ever make me leave you.” 

Ratchet hiccupped as coolant slipped down his cheeks. It was relieving but he still couldn’t believe it. “But these eggs, they may not even be…”

“ _We_ will work through what comes,” Drift interrupted softly. “We are in this together.” He leaned up, rubbing against the swollen belly to lightly kiss the chevron. Cyan optics traced the corners of the then slate blues. He released his mates hands, stroking away the trailed coolant. “Okay?” 

“Okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not really what I feel to be my best but I'm not at my best right now. I just wanted to manage one thing in this shitshow that is life. Thank you very much for reading and double thank you for your patience.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed the cute okay thanks :3


End file.
